


Dirty Little Secret

by stopcallingmeapollo (GayMarauders), wittlenell



Series: Who Has To Know? [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Smooching, Song fic, if you need some escapism here it is!, our apologies to the all-american rejects, r's band apparently wrote a lot of songs they definitely did not write, updates and surprises to come
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayMarauders/pseuds/stopcallingmeapollo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittlenell/pseuds/wittlenell
Summary: Enjolras is a freshman polisci major, determined to make the best of his time in school. Grantaire is the tall, dark, and angsty guitarist everyone makes out with once at a party in college.Except it can't ever be that simple, can it?
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Who Has To Know? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666525
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	1. A Time or Two

“Where are we going again?”

Enjolras shone his phone flashlight on the uneven sidewalk, internally cursing himself for letting Courf convince him to go to a spontaneous house party at 11pm on a Sunday night.

“Don’t worry about it,” Courfeyrac hummed, ducking under low-hanging tree branches as he walked, hands in his pockets without a care in the world, “It’s a friend’s place.”

“‘Friend’ like someone you’re friends with, or ‘friend’ like someone you met on Tinder three hours ago and forged an unbreakable bond with?” Enjolras snarked.  _ This is fine, it’s just syllabus day tomorrow, no big deal...I can leave after an hour and still get like...6 ½ hours of sleep...that’s definitely enough for the first day of college… _

Courfeyrac took a sharp turn, suddenly starting up somebody’s driveway. He went up to the door, finding it already cracked up, and ushered Enjolras inside.

It was a fairly large house, built specifically to house college students close to campus. The layout was wide open, a straight shot from living room to kitchen to bathroom, and it was decorated just as one would imagine a college house to be decorated.

Fairy lights were draped across the top of all walls, making up for most of the lighting. There was one rather shitty couch in the corner, with an array of strange chairs thrown throughout the house. The counters were littered with beer bottles and cans, and a group of people were definitely smoking from a bong near the bathroom.

Tonight there was a rotation of bands playing. In the middle of the living room was a full drum set, with a keyboard nearby, a guitar and a bass on standby with three microphones set up. There were colored lights donated by the bands who wanted to immerse their audiences, bathing the room with purple and red low light.

Over the sound of the previous band finishing their set, Courfeyrac brought Enjolras to a tall, broad man with a floral tattoo sleeve on his right arm. His long, dark hair was pulled half back from his face, and his eyes lit up as they landed on Courfeyrac.

“You made it!” The man said, scooping Courfeyrac into a hug, looking like he was nearly crushing him to death.

“I did! And I brought my roommate!” Courfeyrac wheezed. Upon being released, he presented the boy in question, “Enjolras, this is Bahorel, party animal extraordinaire.”

“Hi,” Enjolras said, extending his hand politely. Bahorel bypassed this and opened his arms wide.

“I’m gonna hug you, ok?” Enjolras barely had time to nod before he was enveloped, the scent of beer and cologne nearly overpowering him. A moment later he was free again, looking desperately to Courf to keep the interaction going.

“Who did you get to play tonight?” Courfeyrac asked with ease, winking at Enjolras.

“The famous  _ Titty Zippers,  _ of course,” Bahorel said. He looked towards the band setup, “They’re up next, in case you wanted a front row seat.”

Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras’ hand, yanking him away, “Oh we  _ have  _ to!” He yelled back in Bahorel’s direction. On their way, he grabbed a beer from a nearby box sitting on a counter.

Enjolras allowed himself to be dragged along, although he avoided grabbing any alcohol as they dodged past various drunken twenty-somethings on their way to the front of the crowd. Once there was no one between them and the “stage,” Courf stopped.

“What’s the big deal with the-- _ Titty Nipples?”  _

“ _ Titty Zippers!”  _ Courf corrected, bouncing excitedly to whatever Top 20s hit was blasting through the speakers as Bahorel called up the next performers.

“Yeah, what’s like--why are you so excited about them? What kind of music do they play?” Enjolras asked.

“That’s the fun of it,” Courfeyrac grinned, “You never know until the song starts playing.”

“O...kay…” Enjolras smiled bemusedly, nodding along to the music. As they watched, a lanky boy in a leather jacket stalked up to the drum set and sat down, adjusting the seat. He was joined by a terrifyingly goth woman who leaned over to consult with him briefly before picking up a bass and starting to tune it. Soon a tall bearded man appeared, guitar in hand. The three stood fiddling their instruments for longer than Enjolras assumed was necessary.  _ What’re they waiting for? I have class at 9 am! _

...Then  _ he  _ arrived.

He was tall - not nearly as tall as the bass player, but he was tall. He was swimming in black curls, despite the hair tie on his wrist. He wore high waisted black jeans, a mesh shirt under a leather jacket, and combat boots. He looked like he was in his own little world, the way that he sauntered up to the microphone and messed with the cords. He glanced in the direction of the bassist, turning then to the drums and then the guitar. He gestured with a single hand, and Enjolras wasn’t sure he even said anything.

Finally, he looked up and into the crowd.

He smiled at Courfeyrac, a knowing gleam in his eye, before he turned his eyes to Enjolras. 

They were a deep, forest green and Enjolras could feel the wind get knocked out of him the second they locked eyes.

Then they were gone, looking to the rest of the crowd before he spoke into the mic, filling the space of the house.

“This is  _ Titty Zippers,  _ and we’re gonna blow your tits off.”

Enjolras blinked, the words barely registering as he stood frozen in place. Then Courf’s delighted cheer jolted him awake, and he looked down, blood rushing to his ears as the song started. He did his best to focus on the bassist, drummer, and guitar player, eyes only flicking past the singer occasionally. It was like the man could tell he was looking, though, and they made eye contact every time. 

_ Who has to know? Who has to know... _

As the song ended, the singer brought his gaze back to Enjolras. Something about his smirk made Enjolras’s stomach drop, and he found himself grabbing Courf’s arm.

“I need something.”

“What?” Courf turned to him, surprised.

“I need--a drink. I need a drink,” Enjolras heard himself saying.

“Oh! Sure! Do you want me to come wi--”

“Yes.”

“Ooookay, I think it’s over--”

“Good.”

Enjolras didn’t let him finish, instead dragging him away to the cooler and cracking open the third beer of his short life.

“You good bro?” He heard someone say.

It was Bahorel, nursing his own beer.

“I’m fine,” Enjolras sputtered, nearly spilling the beer down his front.

Before he knew it, the set was over and the band was coming out to mill with the rest of the party which is exactly what Enjolras didn’t need. He couldn’t even finish the beer he was holding, let alone get drunk enough to look that asshole in the eye again.

He hoped, he sincerely hoped with every bone in his body, that maybe the party was too crowded and they wouldn’t get the chance. That he could leave soon enough, Courfeyrac must’ve been getting tired and they could slip out…

“R!” 

Not a chance in hell.

“Hey, love,” The singer greeted Courfeyrac with a side hug as he approached, “I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care!” Courfeyrac pulled him into a full hug, squeezing him, “That was so good!”

“Thank you,” He said, “I’ll pass the compliments to the band.” He squeezed Courfeyrac’s shoulder, finally bringing his gaze up to meet Enjolras’, “And who is your friend?”

“This is my roommate,” He stayed close to the man’s side, “Enjolras, this is Grantaire.”

“R,” He said, reaching out a hand, “I repeat, I am sweaty.”

“OhIdonmind,” Enjolras said, words rushing out unbidden. He thanked whatever deity was watching over him that the room was as hot and dark as it was, because he could feel himself flushing again.  _ Get a grip, Enjolras, it’s not even the first day of school. You are not falling for the first moderate-to-severely attractive man you see at a house party. _

“I hope you watch over Courfeyrac for me,” He winked, “Don’t let him get too crazy on you.”

“Hey, I’m getting better!” Courfeyrac broke in, pinching Grantaire’s nipple through his shirt.

“Obviously  _ not, _ ” Grantaire breathed through his teeth, grabbing Courfeyrac’s hand and removing it from his chest. “Go play with Eponine and leave my nipples alone.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes before doing just that, walking away to find the bassist and leaving Grantaire, Bahorel, and Enjolras alone together.

Bahorel looked between the two boys before pointing towards the stage, “I, uh… Have to introduce the next band.” He stepped away before anyone could correct him.

“So how do you know Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asked, turning his ASB charm on in the hopes that it would compensate for his uncharacteristic awkwardness. He sipped his beer, trying to hide his gag at the taste.

“We grew up in the same area,” Grantaire said, eyeing the drink in Enjolras’ hand, “I watched a couple of his theatre shows when I was still in high school, I was really good at running sound boards and the director would ask me to stop in a couple times a year. Good kid, but Jesus Christ…”

“He can be a little much when he gets going,” Enjolras says. “I hope your nipple’s ok, by the way.”  _ Why did you say that. Don’t talk about people’s nipples, that’s weird. Although his band name is Titty Zippers, so is it? No, it’s definitely weird. Fuck. _

“It’s fine,” He laughed, “He does that more than you’d think. That’s what I get for naming my band  _ Titty Zippers,  _ I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s...definitely a memorable name. But I guess that probably helps build a fanbase or something, right?”  _ Good, you’re back on track. People like talking about their hobbies.  _

“Oh, definitely, we get invited to a lot of parties.” He looked around then looked to Enjolras, leaning in, “Do you want to unzip me?”

“Do I--w..want--” Enjolras’s eyes widened, his internal dialogue silenced for the first time in years.

“Do. you. want. to. unzip. the Titty Zipper?” He repeated the question, punctuating each word as he said it.

“I uh--I’m not. I’m eighteen. I haven’t been to a lot of these, uh, I don’t really--I’m not here for, uh--”

“It doesn’t go anywhere, it’s just a zipper.”

Grantaire gestured at the front of his jacket, where a single zipper was inlaid to the leather where a breast pocket might go. Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath.

“Oh! Oh, I get it-- _ Titty Zipper.  _ Yeah, sure, of course!” Enjolras reached out and grabbed the zipper, tugging it along the track quickly in hopes that complying might help him save face. “Cool.”

Grantaire laughed, loudly. He laughed from the gut, doubling over the longer it went on. Finally, with tears in his eyes, he straightened back up as best he could, coming face to face with Enjolras. “I can’t believe you unzipped my fucking tit.”

Enjolras’s face fell, panic setting in.  _ I must be drunker than I thought. What kind of fucking faux pas--you’re not supposed to unzip it? It’s a joke? It’s a joke, Enjolras! Fuck! _

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I thought--it must be like, a _thing--_ I totally should’ve asked for your consent, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

Grantaire clasped his shoulder, “You’re so fucking funny, blondie. Oh my  _ god,  _ you made my whole ass night. Welcome to Seattle, if you ever need anything, Courfeyrac can give you my number. This city is going to eat your ass.” He gave him a squeeze, a wink, then disappeared into the crowd.

“I’m back! Where’d R go--”

“We’re going home.”

Enjolras grabbed Courf’s hand once again, dragging him through the crowd and out the door before he could reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapters 2 and 3 are currently being edited and will be posted soon. But never fear - "Dirty Little Secret" is only part 1 of 4, so the fun won't stop there ;)  
> Comments and kudos always make editing less lonely!  
> ~J & James


	2. Games You (Don't) Wanna Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late-night shenanigans end in a first for Enjolras.

_ October 21st, 2018 _ __  
_ Comparative Religions 101 _ _  
_ __ Prof. Hugo

_ Although it is, of course, dangerous to draw direct parallels between unrelated cultural concepts… _

Enjolras stopped typing and sighed, rubbing his eyes as he glanced at the clock. It was 2:17am on a Sunday, and he had a list of short responses a mile long due the next day. He’d been working for three hours already and made steady headway, but the final few assignments were notably uninspiring at this hour. He stared at the bright screen in front of him, silently begging the universe for some sign that he should finally give up, when his phone buzzed.

**Courfeyrac:** We ended up at a 24 hour diner on Capitol Hill. R is trying to challenge me to the lesbian contest. Place your bets right now.

Enjolras snorted, shaking his head, before typing his response.

**Enjolras:** Your poor waiter. You two shouldn’t be let loose unsupervised. Don’t make a mess...also I’ll put $10 on R.

**Courfeyrac:** TEN DOLLARS ON R??? 

**Courfeyrac:** Bahorel is laughing at me :(((

**Courfeyrac:** I’m going to win just to spite you.

About a minute or so later, a fourth text came through.

**Courfeyrac:** ://////

**Enjolras:** I need a reason to leave this room. If you buy me fries I won’t make you pay me the $10 :P

**Courfeyrac:** Enjolras??? Giving up on academic excellence to hang out with the plebs on a school night??? I’ll pay to see that. We’re at Le Musaine. Should be here for at least another hour, Baz just asked for a rematch but he wants to practice first

Enjolras quickly pulled up the diner on Google, and a few minutes later he was on the street heading up the hill. The city was fairly quiet, and in no time he found himself entering the diner and scanning the tables for his friend.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac called.

The group was in the back corner booth, Bahorel sitting beside Courfeyrac and Grantaire across from Bahorel.

Enjolras approached the table, smiling bemusedly at the three men. Courf was waving wildly as if to hasten Enjolras’s pace, while Bahorel was utterly absorbed in licking a single-serving jam packet clean. Grantaire, meanwhile, was sprawled across the booth, the very picture of ease. He watched Enjolras quietly, and Enj thought he could see a smirk on the singer’s face. Enjolras’s steps faltered and his heartbeat quickened as he realized that he would have to sit next to him, but he forged ahead, determined not to embarrass himself as he had at their first meeting.

“Go ahead, sneak on in,” Grantaire said once Enjolras was within earshot. He brought his leg closer to his body, giving the boy room.

“Did you want anything?” Courfeyrac asked his roommate, “I can call the waitress back, she thinks I’m cute.”

“She does not,” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Well, she thinks Grantaire is cute, but I can get her attention,” he beamed nonetheless.

“I think you owe me fries, right?” Enjolras reminded him, ignoring his antics as he gingerly sat down next to Grantaire. “And I’d take a lemonade, too.”

“ _ Fries, _ ” Courfeyrac emphasized, mostly to himself. He raised his hand, looking towards the counter until a woman in uniform looked up at him. He started to mime eating fries and drinking lemonade.

“I could hear him, sweet baby,” she finally spoke up after a few moments of Courfeyrac embarrassing everyone except himself, “I can put it on the ticket.”

“You’re a doll,” He said with an exaggerated wink.

“Would you two like some privacy?” Bahorel drawled, setting down his seventh empty jam packet.

“You’re just jealous,” Courfeyrac pouted. “You wish you had this much game, but all you have is all that jam…”

“I’m not sure…” Grantaire started then shook his head, “No… Never mind.”

Within moments, the waitress appeared with a basket of cheese curds and a lemonade. She placed them in front of Grantaire, lingering for just a moment before she walked away.

Grantaire winked before she turned away completely, then dug into his deep fried cheese.

“So what’ve you all been up to tonight?” Enjolras asked, directing his gaze toward Bahorel and Courfeyrac.

“We hit up a couple clubs, but nothing was really happening so we ended up here,” Baz replied. “It’s really not worth it to go out unless it’s Bear Night.”

“Stop,” Grantaire groaned, “I hate Bear Night, it’s just like, fifty you’s in a dark room with really weird Carly Rae Jepsen remixes.”

“Don’t disrespect my culture just because you don’t  _ get it, _ ” Bahorel huffed before reaching over to steal a curd.

Enjolras stifled a laugh, taking a sip of his lemonade as Grantaire slapped Bahorel’s hand away before allowing him to take a single cheese curd. He allowed himself a glance at his seatmate, who was still just as tall, dark, and angsty as he remembered. Smudged eyeliner accentuated his green eyes, and the rings on his fingers caught the light as he gestured.

As the waitress came back with food the table, including Enjolras’ fries, Grantaire found a moment where the table was distracted. He swooped in, taking a sip from Enjolras’ lemonade before returning to his own spot, acting as if nothing had happened.

And, if you were Courfeyrac or Bahorel, nothing had happened at all.

“What was that?” Enjolras said indignantly, turning to face Grantaire.

“What?” Courf asked, tuning back in to find his friend frowning at Grantaire.

“What was what?” Grantaire asked, leaning heavily against the wall. He took another curd, dipping it into the aioli he was given and popping it into his mouth. He gestured to his moving jaw, as if to say “Can’t talk, eating.”

“He stole my lemonade!” Enjolras exclaimed, looking to Courf to back him up. “He just--took it! Right in front of me!”

Courfeyrac scrunched up his nose, eyes flicking to Grantaire, to Enjolras, back to Grantaire, “Did you steal his lemonade?”

“Nah man, it’s still on the table.”

Four sets of eyes slid over to the table, where the lemonade was, in fact, still sitting.

“But he took a SIP!” Enjolras’s voice cracked on the last syllable, and he felt his face flush. “Whatever, it’s fine, it’s just--weird, is all…”

Grantaire started to laugh, but coughed into his hand to mask it. “You can have a curd,” He offered, pushing the basket towards him while still trying to cover up his giggles.

“Hey now, why does he get free access to curds and I get a slap?” Bahorel interjected.

“Because he’s unzipped my titty, Baz,” Grantaire said, “We’re practically at like, eighth base.”

Enjolras flushed more, taking the proffered curd and looking to Courf for help once again.

“He told me to do it!”

“I  _ offered,  _ don’t let him lie to you.”

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows in surprise, before they furrowed as he stared at Enjolras. 

“When did you have time to unzip his titty?” He asked, “You dragged me out of there within minutes.”

“It, uh, all happened really fast,” Enjolras muttered, ducking his head as Bahorel guffawed.

“I thought you said you weren’t into the ‘college hookup scene’…” Courf teased.

“Oh shit, we’re hooking up? Why didn’t you tell me?” Grantaire shifted in his seat, turning his body to Enjolras, “Should we sneak off to the bathroom? Ya’know, like the cool college kids do.”

“I--”

“I know, I know, you’re eighteen, you don’t do this sort of thing. He told me all this before you found us the other night,” Grantaire clarified to a delightedly mystified Courf. 

“I didn’t come here to be  _ bullied--” _

“I’m here, of course you did,” Courf interjected easily. 

“R is a good first-timer,” Bahorel spoke up, cheersing his drink in Grantaire’s direction, “I made out with him for my first time.”

Grantaire blew a kiss in his directione.

“It wouldn’t be my first time,” Enjolras snapped. “I’m not a  _ total--” _

“When have you ever made out with someone?” Courf laughed. “And Combeferre during spin the bottle doesn’t count, we were twelve.”

“Spin the bottle counts!” Enjolras argued, but his protests were drowned out.

“I would take care of you, I don’t get the arguments,” Grantaire said noncommittally, eating another curd.

“Do it before he makes out with the waitress instead,” Bahorel prodded.

“I don’t think that’s, uh, a good--”

“Oh come on, we have to once--for the story.”

Grantaire’s smirk felt like a challenge, and Enjolras could feel his stubborn streak rising to meet it.

“Fine. But it’s not my first time.”

The words had barely left Enjolras’ lips before Grantaire was grabbing at him, pulling him into a kiss. He put one hand on the back of his neck, holding him in place, the other resting on the table. 

Courfeyrac and Bahorel watched as the kiss went on and on, with Enjolras turning more and more red the longer it went. His hand gripped R’s bicep, but he didn’t push him away as quickly as he’d planned.  _ I’m gonna win. I’ll show him. _ When he finally broke away, feeling he’d made his point--whatever that was--the taste of stolen lemonade lingered on his lips. His heart was pounding, but he met Grantaire’s eyes defiantly.

Grantaire stared into his eyes for a long moment before patting the side of his face.

“Good job, blondie,” He murmured, turning back to his basket of curds and continuing to snack without a care in the world.

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply and was cut off by the waitress.

“Y’all need anything else?”

“Nope, we’re perfect!” Courf said brightly.

“Alrighty, I’ll bring the check by in a bit. You paying together or separately?” Enjolras tuned out as Courf negotiated the payment situation, suddenly unable to meet any of their eyes. As soon as the waitress left, Bahorel grabbed his basket of fries and pulled it to the centre of the table.

“You’d better not eat these, she probably spit in them. Since you were making out with her boyfriend and all,” he said, grabbing three and stuffing them into his mouth. “Don’t worry, I’ll take one for the team.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, grabbing them back.

“It wouldn’t be the grossest thing I put my mouth on tonight.”

“Oooooh, the shade!” Courf crowed.

“That’s not very nice, the lemonade wasn’t that bad,” Grantaire commented smoothly.

“Well, you would know, since you stole it.”

“I borrowed it, do you want it back?”

“God you’re disgusting,” Bahorel interrupted, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. “Also, it’s past 3. We should probably head back unless we’re all planning on skipping tomorrow.”

Grantaire checked his phone before grunting, “Yeah, I guess. I have something I can’t miss tomorrow.” He looked to Courfeyrac, “Do you and Leslie Knope here need a ride back to the dorms?”

“It  _ is  _ rather late,” Courfeyrac said before Enjolras could protest.

As soon as the checks were sorted out, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Grantaire headed back to his car, while Bahorel headed out to a bus in the opposite direction. They piled in, Enjolras taking the backseat, and a few minutes later they had pulled up outside the dorms.

“Thank you, R,” Courfeyrac said as he unbuckled.

“You’re welcome, love,” He replied, reaching over to give the boy a one-armed hug, “Hit me up anytime, alright?” He watched as Courfeyrac scrambled out of the car, scampering towards the dormitory building, no doubt assuming Enjolras was right on his heels.

Alas, he wasn’t quite that fast, as it  _ was  _ past three in the morning. His hand was on the door handle by the time Courfeyrac had skipped away, and he stopped just briefly to say a “thank you for the ride.”

Grantaire reached back and put a hand on Enjolras’ leg. The two looked at each other in the dim light for a long time before Grantaire spoke, “Hit me up anytime. Alright?”

Suddenly the universe narrowed down to that hand, and those damned green eyes. Enjolras blinked, swallowing hard before he nodded.

“He’s waiting for you,” Grantaire said, not breaking eye contact, “You should go.”

“I should.” Enjolras sat frozen, caught between the impulse to lean in and the quieter, more logical urge to leave the car and go to bed.

“Waiting for a goodnight kiss?” He teased after a moment.

_ No _ , he tried to say, but for some reason the sounds wouldn’t come out. He stared at Grantaire for a moment, hesitating.

“Come here.”

As if a spell had been lifted, Enjolras unfroze. He nearly hit the seat in front of him as he scooted forward unceremoniously, bringing himself closer to the older man.

Grantaire cupped Enjolras’ jaw, leaning forward just enough to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, “Goodnight.”

Enjolras stared at him for a moment, then did perhaps the most impulsive thing he’d done in his eighteen years. He surged forward, climbing up between the front seats and straddling Grantaire.

Before he could think about it, they were kissing. They were  _ making out.  _ Grantaire’s hands were buried in Enjolras’ hair, taking just a moment to smack his hazards on. Then his arm was around Enjolras’s slight frame, one strong hand spread across his upper back to steady him as their lips met. It felt like a thousand years and a single second. He felt Grantaire’s tongue gently slide against him, and Enjolras’s lips parted for a moment in the slightest gasp. He rocked back, Grantaire following, both of them breathing hard as the kiss deepened and--

_ Bweeeeeeeeeeeeeep! _

Grantaire jerked back, pulling Enjolras up against his chest, “Oh shit!” Trying to catch his breath, he looked around to make sure no one was about to come punch his car like the last time he honked this early in the morning.

He caught the eyes of the security guard sitting at the front desk of the dorms, then gingerly opened the car door to let Enjolras climb off of his lap.

“So uh,” He cleared his throat, “Hit me up? Anytime?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said lamely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I should. Go.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire echoed, “Gotta. Catch Courfeyrac. Okay, bye,” He suddenly started driving, not having quite shut his door as he pulled out and into the intersection. Within seconds, he was gone from sight. Enjolras watched him, his hand running through his hair in an echo of Grantaire’s. Then he turned and ran into the dorms. By the time he had fallen into bed, his heart was still pounding, and he dreamed of green and black and strong, warm hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for Chapter 2! Has anyone else been listening to Dirty Little Secret on repeat while reading this? Just us?  
> ...anyway, comments & kudos are always appreciated!  
> Love from the Emerald Quarantine,  
> J & James


	3. You Are the Only One That Needs to Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire joins a certain student activist group, much to Enjolras's chagrin.

The campus cafe was quiet, the late afternoon sun giving it a warm glow as Enjolras and Feuilly attempted to set up a dilapidated projector. Enjolras’s laptop sat open with a slideshow on queer immigration pulled up. As 5:00 approached, his friends arrived in twos and threes, until the tables were mostly full of a motley assortment of college students.

Finally, the projector sputtered to life, and Enjolras thanked Feuilly before turning to address the group.

“Hey everyone! So as we decided during our last meeting, this semester we’re going to be focusing on awareness and money-raising campaigns for United We Dream’s program, the ‘Queer Undocumented Immigrant Project.’ I think it would be a good idea to split into a few groups to focus on different tasks, depending on how we want to go about this.”

He had just reached out to change the slide when there was a small commotion at the cafe entrance.

Without a care for anything that was happening through the door, Grantaire came walking in with Bahorel, chatting about their day. It took them a moment to even realize that the only occupants of the cafe were Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and a few people they sort of knew.

“R?” Courfeyrac’s eyes lit up, looking like a cartoon character as he wiggled in his seat.

“Hey, love,” He blinked, looking around the room then at Enjolras, “What the fuck is this about?”

Enjolras’s heart swooped into his stomach as it always did when Grantaire put him on the spot. Even after months of... _ hanging out... _ something about the way he looked at him still made him nervous.

“Uh, we’re, having a Student Interest Group Meeting, the cafe is reserved,” he said quickly.

He glanced towards Bahorel before speaking, “That’s cool and all, but I came here for a sandwich.”

“The cafe closes at four,” Enjolras said, confused.

“Not when my sweet lady Chetta is working,” Grantaire argued, crossing his arms, “She always saves me something.”

Enjolras blinked.

“Chetta went home. Joly isn’t feeling well.” He paused, looking to Combeferre for support, then shook himself slightly. “Anyway, we have a lot to cover today, so if you don’t mind--”

“Do you think she left anything behind the counter?” He spoke over Enjolras, climbing over the counter in question. He crouched down, looking for the sandwich he so desperately wanted.

“She didn’t mention anything about it,” Enjolras said, voice tight.

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound right,” Grantaire hummed.

“Oh, actually,” Courfeyrac stood and walked to a walk-in pantry. He came back with a bag of chips and a wrapped hoagie, “She left it in the cooler.”

“Great!” Enjolras said. “So as I was saying, the task groups will depend on what we want to do for fundraising. We’ll definitely need some artist-types to handle advertising, and someone who knows coding to change up our website to have all the relevant information and graphics. You’re taking some coding classes, right, Fee? And the rest of us will cover whatever the actual projects are.” He picked up a clipboard with a piece of paper attached. “Why don’t we all write down our general interest and brainstorm ideas. A bakesale could be fun, and classic…” He passed the clipboard to Courf, looking around the room to see if anyone else had thoughts.

“What kind of art?” Grantaire spoke up through a mouthful of hoagie. He was sitting on the counter with Bahorel, who was eating the chips.

“Grantaire does art,” Courfeyrac pointed his pen in the boys direction. He paused then rubbed the back of his neck, laughing, “I mean, if we need help.”

“Oh! Great!” Enjolras said, taken aback.  _ How did I not know that?  _ “We need poster designs, mainly, and versions of those designs that work for social media posts and such. Courf can tell you the specific requirements, he’s our social media manager. Um, if you’re interested, that is.” He looked expectantly at Grantaire.

Grantaire blinked, stopping his jaw for just a moment. Then slowly, he resumed, swallowed, then sort of made an “Eehhrrr?” sound.

“It doesn’t have to be more than just a couple designs,” Courfeyrac said quickly, “We just need something that catches the eye.”

“Do I have to like officially be part of this … club, or whatever?” The singer asked before taking another bite.

“Uh--no, but the more people who join, the more attention we get from the school,” Enjolras replied. “We would just need your student ID number and full name.”

“Would I be obligated to come to these things?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe not  _ obligated, _ ” Courfeyrac hugged his clipboard, “But it’d certainly be preferred if you  _ did. _ ”

“Do I get sandwiches if I come?”

“I thought Chetta gave them to you?” Enjolras asked, annoyed. “We don’t have much budget for snacks at the moment. Although, if everyone registered as a member, that might change,” he added pointedly.

“I’ll think about it,” He said dismissively.

“Awesome.” Enjolras took a deep breath and plastered a smile onto his face. “Ok, so besides a bake sale, what fundraising ideas do we have?”

“A car wash!” Courfeyrac beamed, “I can bring out my denim shorts!”

“A silent auction?” A brunette piped up from the back of the room, looking unsure as to how he even got there.

“Battle of the bands,” Grantaire bulldozed.

“I’m not sure it’s warm enough for a car wash, but a silent auction might work,” Enjolras said, scribbling down notes. “Who could we ask for items? Local businesses?”

“My g----friend’s dad has some stuff he’s looking to get rid of,” The brunette squeaked, face flushing, “I could ask him if he would be willing to help out.”

“Battle of the bands!” Grantaire said again, almost crushing the rest of his hoagie with his enthusiasm.

Enjolras turned slowly to face Grantaire.

“I’m not sure the logistics for that would be realistic for us, with venues and equipment and bands and such. Did anyone else have an idea?”

“I know tons of local bands,” Grantaire said before anyone else could speak up, “And there are at least two different university houses that host concerts on the reg. I don’t think it’s that unreasonable.”

“...Okay,” Enjolras said, turning back to him. “You can take the lead on that one, then, and Mitch? Mark? Sorry, what was your name?”

“--Marius.”

“Marius, you can head up the auction. Sound good?”

“Sure!” 

“YES,” Grantaire threw his fist in the air, throwing the final bite of hoagie on the floor on accident. He looked at Enjolras with wide-eyes, fist still up, before he grinned, “Clean up on aisle R.”

Enjolras closed his eyes, taking another deep breath as the room erupted in laughter.  _ I’ve lost them, haven’t I.  _ He opened his eyes, clapped his hands together once and increased his volume significantly.

“Alright, that’s great progress for today! Please email me which team you’d like to be on for fundraising, or if you’d like to help with the website or advertising with Grantaire or Feuilly. Thanks for coming, everyone.” There was a chorus of agreement and random comments as people began to pack up. “Oh, and Grantaire, could you stick around for a moment? I’d like to talk with you privately.”

“Ooooh, you’re in  _ trouble _ ,” Courfeyrac cackled. 

“It happens,” Grantaire shrugged. He reached out an arm, hugging Courfeyrac before he trotted out. He fist-bumped Bahorel and confirmed their plans for later that night before watching him leave behind the rest of the group, until finally it was just the blonde and the asshole.

“If you’re signing up for the group, I’ll need your student info,” Enjolras said, shuffling papers and avoiding eye contact as Grantaire stood a few feet away.

“That’s a weird way to finally ask for my number.”

“I don’t need your number, just your student ID and your name,” Enjolras replied, confused. “... _ oh _ . I, uh, that’s not why I--I actually wanted to say, I’d appreciate if you didn’t try to derail the meetings going forward. I can send you a copy of the Code of Conduct for the group once you’ve signed up, just so everything’s--clear.” He stuffed the last of his things into his backpack, tugging at the zipper until it closed and swinging it quickly over his shoulder.

“I don’t think I was derailing,” He said, tilting his head, “I offered my services and ideas. Isn’t that what you nerds do here?”

“And I appreciate that, I really do. We just don’t have much time with everyone together and we need to focus, not...talk about sandwiches,” Enjolras had run out of excuses not to look at Grantaire, and he was met with that irritatingly relaxed-- _ cocky-- _ demeanor once more.

He held up his hands defensively, though he smiled all the same, “Pardon me,  _ monsieur _ , should we kiss and make up?”

“I--we--you’re derailing again,” Enjolras sputtered, cheeks reddening.

He grinned, “Am I? I truly boggle myself, I don’t know how this keeps happening. Maybe you need to shut me up.”

“Someone should,” Enjolras muttered, moving forward and attempting to push past the larger man.

Grantaire held out a hand, stopping Enjolras in his tracks. He pressed his hand against the shorter man’s chest, “Where are you headed?”

The gentle pressure from Grantaire’s hand seemed to knock the wind out of Enjolras, and he breathed in sharply.

“My dorm.”

“Without a goodbye kiss?”

Once again, Enjolras’s stubborn streak made an appearance. Determined not to be out-bluffed, he rose up on tip-toes and pressed his lips against Grantaire’s, hard.

Grantaire brought his hand to the small of Enjolras’ back, pressing the boy up against his own body. He deepened the kiss, quickly losing his balance and toppling over Enjolras, knocking the other boy onto the counter and landing on top of him, arm still locked around him. Enjolras gasped, his arms wrapping around Grantaire as they landed together. They broke apart briefly, chests heaving.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Enjolras said, even as one leg came up and hooked over Grantaire’s hip.

Grantaire hooked his arm up under Enjolras’ knee, “Oh yeah? Prove it.” Before the other boy could process the statement, he went back in. He brushed his tongue against the blonde’s lips, who granted him access without hesitation. This was far from the first time they had found themselves in this position, but something was different now. The energy had shifted, and Enjolras found himself sucking and biting at Grantaire’s lip as he pulled back. His hips rose up slightly, pressing against Grantaire’s, and his heart beat so hard he was certain Grantaire could hear it. Without thinking, Grantaire bucked down against him. Finally, he pulled back just enough to press his face against Enjolras’ neck.

He didn’t speak for what felt like ages. He only breathed. He pressed a hand to Enjolras’ chest, as though trying to get their breathing to match up by feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Enjolras arched into him, desperately trying to find that divine pressure and warmth again. His head tilted away, exposing pale skin, as a low whine escaped his lips.

“Hey, hey,” Grantaire murmured in a soothing tone, “No more.”

“What?” Enjolras murmured, slowly returning to himself as he caught his breath.

“No more,” He repeated. He nuzzled his nose against the pulse point just under Enjolras’ jaw before he sat up, looking down at him. “You good?”

“I--yeah. Good. I’m good.” He shivered, then sat up. “I should get going.”

“I can walk you back to your dorm,” He said, gently climbing off the counter and holding out his hand, “If you want.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Enjolras said quickly, dodging around him and pulling his backpack on. “It’s just across the street, and I’m sure you have better things to do than me. Walking me, I mean.”

“It’s just across the street,” Grantaire echoed, still holding out his hand.

“...alright.” Enjolras wiped his palm on his pants before taking Grantaire’s hand gingerly.

Grantaire adjusted his grip, lacing their fingers together. Without another word, he walked out of the cafe and took Enjolras just across the street. Just across the street, he reminded himself, ignoring the way Enjolras’ hand felt in his own. Ignoring the way it took him a moment to release his hold once they had stopped outside. Ignoring the way the feeling of Enjolras pressing into his body was burned into his mind.

All too soon they found themselves outside of the dorms, Enjolras dropping Grantaire’s hand to swipe his badge and open the door. He turned back, looking up, almost as if to--before he changed his mind and quickly entered the building, tossing a “See you next week!” over his shoulder.

Grantaire watched as the boy disappeared into the building. He was awestruck, and he hated it. He smoothed down his jacket and pants, clearing his throat before taking out a cigarette. He lit it on his way back to his car, taking in a long drag and holding it as long as he could stand. He coughed as it came out, slamming his car door shut and starting the engine with a shaky hand.

“Goddammit,” He muttered, shifting gears and taking another long drag of his cigarette before he crushed it against his steering wheel and pulled out of the student parking lot, heading home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on the prologue portion of this story. Part 2 will begin posting shortly - any guesses what the next song is?  
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!  
> Wash your hands!  
> ~J & James


End file.
